


weirdest ever day

by captainskellington



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainskellington/pseuds/captainskellington
Summary: At some point, Grantaire reasoned, you just had to accept that some far-flung deity had it in for you and continue on with your life as best as you could.





	weirdest ever day

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know, it's been precisely 2 years and 8 days since I last posted any Les Mis fic? Sorry this isn't much!

At some point, Grantaire reasoned, you just had to accept that some far-flung deity had it in for you and continue on with your life as best as you could. 

To his credit, it had taken him a considerable number of inconveniences before he came to this conclusion on this particular day. 

He didn’t bat an eye when his train was cancelled — _again_ — and he had to call the restaurant and agree to rearrange his shift so that it would finish an hour and a half later than usual. It would mean having to get the night bus home, which always sucked, but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to shoddy rail networks. 

It wasn’t his fumbling to end the call in the rain and dropping his phone on the concrete — a phone that had survived  _ Bossuet,  _ its previous owner, almost entirely unharmed — and the shattering of its screen that did it either. It wasn’t ideal, but he could just wander into town before work tomorrow and have it replaced with little in the way of effort or expense on his part. The bloody thing was so far out of warranty he was surprised it had lasted this long anyway and, besides, he preferred using his tablet when he was at home. His friends had got him it for his last birthday, citing as their inspiration his desperate need to build up a resistance to his apparent technology intolerance if he had any intention of surviving in the world as it progressed.

(“Also, you never respond to my emails and that hurts my feelings,” said Courfeyrac. 

And nobody in their right mind wants to hurt Courfeyrac’s feelings, especially since finding out Combeferre had dabbled in cagefighting — yep — at uni. Grantaire liked his limbs, thanks.)

The next turd life decided to fling at him came — though thankfully not in the shape of an actual turd — at work itself, when a rampant toddler upended an entire plate of spaghetti onto his freshly washed shirt. To make matters worse, said toddler, sensing she was about to be reprimanded and immediately seeking an out for her behaviour, burst into tears and Grantaire received a lecture from the girl’s useless parents for absolutely no reason he could fathom. 

As he changed into a colleague’s spare shirt that was about half a size too small for him, he seriously attempted to recall the last time he had come into contact with any black cats, ladders, or broken mirrors. 

But even then, he hadn’t resigned himself to his fate. 

No, that moment came even after he finished hours later than he had been rescheduled, due to a party in his section who had downright refused to leave. He stepped off the night bus, which had broken down just over halfway through its ambling journey, only to realise that in his hurry to leave he had left his jacket at work. 

Which wouldn’t be such a problem, if it hadn’t at that precise moment started raining like there was an entire sea to replenish. 

Oh, and if his house keys and wallet weren’t still in his jacket pocket. 

It was then that he took his phone out of his trouser pocket and saw the damage for the first time since dropping it earlier, suddenly reminded of the fact that its screen was now completely unresponsive to touch. 

He groaned, but brightened up somewhat when he remembered that he could use his earphones and voice command to call someone to come get him. Either that or a taxi, but the loose change in his pocket didn’t  _ feel  _ like enough to cover the fare. 

It was either that or wait for the replacement bus that the chain-smoking driver didn’t seem to think would be coming in the near future, so he held down the microphone button and began to speak. 

“Hey Siri, call—,”

And  _ then _ he remembered three very important, very inconvenient things. 

First of all, he’d had to take the train this afternoon to begin with because Bahorel had gone to visit family for the week and taken Feuilly, so he had no access to a car, never mind anyone who could drive one. 

Secondly, Joly and Bossuet had embarked on a long deserved holiday just that morning, and as such even if he got home there would be nobody to let him in. 

And thirdly? He couldn’t remember any of the ridiculous names he’d programmed into his phone as his friends’ contact details. 

“—GOD,” Grantaire sputtered in despair. 

Absurdly, his phone started dialling. 

He stared at the screen in disbelief as the tone began to repeat. Was he going insane? Was his phone somehow programmed with a direct line to god? Was this bizarre, hellish day ever going to end?

There was no contact picture, but the phone’s display definitely read,  **CALLING: GOD** . 

“What the fuck,” Grantaire whispered, and almost before he’d finished uttering the last word the call connected. 

“—shit, hi, hello, sorry, who is this?” the voice said. “Not to be rude, I literally just put my SIM card into a new phone two minutes ago, so I don’t have any numbers, and I also didn’t recognise the ringtone, so I didn’t — hello?”

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked. 

“R? Hey, is something wrong?”

“Why the hell were you setting up a new phone at,” he peered at the clock on the top of his screen underneath the fractures in the glass. “3AM?”

“I was busy before,” Enjolras says, somewhat defensively, and Grantaire can almost see the shrug. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

“I,” Grantaire laughed, a touch hysterically, and tried again. “I am having the weirdest ever day. I don’t suppose you would be able to come get me at—,” he craned his head to see the nearest street sign, peering through the rain, and relayed the address to Enjolras. “I have no keys, no wallet, a barely functioning phone and very little sanity left at my disposal.”

“Shit,” Enjolras said again, and Grantaire grinned as he heard the  _ thud  _ of something dropping to the floor. “Oh, everyone’s away this weekend, aren’t they? No, yeah, of course, I’ll come get you— do you want to stay here? I mean, I’m not really asking, you’re staying here, it’s 3AM for God’s sake.” 

“Thanks, Enjolras. I’ll explain properly when you get here. I owe you one.”

There was the jingling of keys, a door shutting with a loud  _ thunk,  _ and Enjolras wincing at the noise before he spoke again. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he said, then hung up. 

Grantaire laughed quietly to himself, slouching further inside the largely ineffectual bus shelter and trying to remember when he’d saved Enjolras’ details as  **GOD** . Come to think of it, though, he couldn’t remember when or why he had changed Eponine’s name to  **EAGLE 2** , or Bahorel’s to  **WE RIDE AT DAWN** either, but those were definitely items on his contact list. 

Eventually a figure appeared in the rain. Grantaire just managed to leap back in time to avoid being showered in puddle water as said figure performed an impressive, but probably not legal, maneuver on his beloved motorbike, skidding to a halt at the roadside and removing his helmet to reveal a beaming Enjolras. 

For some reason, people often made the mistake of assuming Enjolras was the sensible friend in their group. It was probably something to do with his knack of making good first impressions, and ruthlessly efficient organisational skills when it came to everything that wasn’t his sleeping habits, bedroom or personal life in general. Either that or his noble resting face, which resembled righteous consternation, even though he was usually trying to remember where he left his last cup of tea or if he’d actually submitted his last paper or left it as a draft by mistake.

But really, Enjolras was just a mildly reckless speed fiend with strong morals, poor self control and remarkably great hair.

“Show-off,” Grantaire shouted over the rain, but he was grinning as Enjolras tossed him a spare jacket and helmet for the ride back. 

“Hope you don’t mind stopping for pizza on the way,” Enjolras said. “I’m fucking starving. Hold on!”

Grantaire barely had enough time to securely wrap his arms around Enjolras's middle before they were speeding off into the night. He whooped with exhilaration, ignoring the rain that lashed even harder against his face with the added wind speed of the bike, conscious of a warmth spreading through him at the prospect of food and a warm, dry house. Maybe today wasn’t so bad, after all.

He really did owe Enjolras, big time.

He… also really needed to get around to telling him he was in love with him at some point. 

But that could wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> I daydreamed this a couple of weeks ago and thought, 'eh, might as well post it'. It could conceivably be a canon prequel to almost any of my miscellaneous modern AUs for these guys, so consider it one of those if you want.
> 
> I'm still [cityelf](http://cityelf.tumblr.com) if you want me. Have a nice day.


End file.
